


Old Friends and New Enemies

by Aini_NuFire



Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [39]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Dragon Riders, Friendship, Gen, Reunions, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28834221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: Stolen gunpowder leads the musketeers to a monastery where the bandits have taken refuge. And they meet up with an old friend along the way.
Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [39]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564573
Comments: 10
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are, the start of season 4 of this AU.
> 
> Disclaimer for this entire arc of the verse: I have not watched the show's season 3; therefore I will not be using any of the characters from it, as I wouldn't be able to capture anyone accurately. Some plot points and parallels will be used, but there won't be any episode adaptations like I've done in previous stories.

Athos darted across the battlefield, flinging himself into a shallow trench gouged through the muck and mire of earth made slick from sweat and blood. Cannons exploded ahead and behind. Dragons clashed in the air above. It was chaos. Athos gripped his sword and raised his head to peer over the mound of dirt. Sheets of armor splattered with mud made it hard to tell who was Spanish and who was French as soldiers clashed with screeches of steel and guttural howls. The French and Musketeer flags staked into the rear line behind him flew in tatters, as marred and shredded as the bodies on the field.

Athos drew in a deep breath, then charged out from his cover, swinging his sword at an enemy soldier. The armor inhibited his movements in a way that robbed him of some of his prior grace and agility as the regiment's best swordsman, but after two years fighting such battles, he'd learned to adapt. He thrusted and parried, cutting past the soldier's defenses and striking him down. Another infantryman was there to take his place.

Athos swiftly stabbed him under his armor guard, but just as he pulled his blade free, a dragon crashed to the ground mere feet from him. The jarring impact shook the earth and knocked Athos off balance. He scrambled to get upright again as the beast, still alive, thrashed wildly. Blood streamed from several gouges and its eyes were wild. It caught sight of Athos and immediately snapped its jaws at him. He scrabbled backward, only to trip over a human corpse and go sprawling. The dragon roared and began to crawl toward him.

A gust of wind heralded the arrival of Savron, who swooped down and tackled the Spanish dragon, both of them sent rolling across the ground and smashing into soldiers engaged in combat. Athos grimaced and pushed himself to his feet again. There was no time to stop. Raising his sword, he plunged into the fray once more.

How long had this battle been raging? Hours now? Exhaustion and adrenaline warred against each other as Athos cut down enemy after enemy. He found himself fighting near Porthos, whose grime covered face and bushy hair and beard made him look like a crazed man come down from the mountains as he plowed through enemy soldiers. Porthos yanked a spear out of the ground and with a raging bellow, drove it into his opponent with enough force that he impaled the man to the ground. He whirled for the next, but their area was clear of the enemy, for the moment.

"Where's d'Artagnan?" Athos asked breathlessly. The young man and Porthos had been together when the first battle charge sounded. Though it was easy to get separated once the chaos and madness set in.

Porthos wrenched the spear out of the corpse. "Don't know."

"Get down!" someone yelled.

Athos and Porthos immediately dove for the ground as a cannon ball whistled over their heads. It struck the earth not far and exploded with a reverberation that boomed in Athos's eardrums and rib cage. Dirt rained down upon their heads.

When the shower stopped, Athos carefully lifted himself up and caught sight of several French infantrymen lying in pieces where the cannon had hit. He rolled onto his hip and scanned the rest of the field. A fresh wave of Spanish soldiers stood at the enemy line, ready to surge forward. And the Musketeers did not have the strength to withstand them. Even now, all their dragons were currently engaged in the air. The Spanish were winning.

Then Athos caught sight of d'Artagnan leading a charge of musketeers from off to the right. He cursed the boy's brashness as he scrambled to his feet and thrust his sword high with a cry for any soldiers left standing to rally to him. If they were to die, they would go down fighting.

Yet before their men had even crossed the field, a white dragon came swooping down out of the blue and belched out a column of fire all along the Spanish line of reinforcements. Screams rent the air as men engulfed in flames ran in every direction. The white dragon banked sharply and veered back around to take out one of the cannons. By then, the musketeers had led the charge across the battlefield and broke upon the scattered enemy like a wave upon sand. The pale dragon then wrenched away and flew back up to aid her fellow Musketeer dragons.

Athos and Porthos gave a battle cry as they plunged into the last leg of battle, the dragon having given them the upper hand they needed to turn the tide. Within a course of minutes, the last Spanish soldiers threw down their weapons and surrendered. With their masters defeated, the Spanish dragons in the sky disengaged and retreated.

Athos roved his gaze around the carnage; it had been a hard-won victory. But the sight of his two dearest brothers walking toward him, still alive and standing, was a balm to his war-weary heart.

The white dragon glided down and pulled up to land in front of them.

"What have I told you about rushing into battle like that?" d'Artagnan chided as he sheathed his blade and planted his hands on his hips. "You're the important message courier, remember?"

Ayelet cocked her head unabashedly back at him.

"And where do you think she gets it?" Athos commented mildly.

"Good timing, though," Porthos remarked, saluting her with two fingers.

Ayelet lifted her head and preened herself like a smug peacock.

The rest of the dragons returned from their aerial battles, circling the field until they could locate their riders to land beside. Athos watched Krell set down amidst nothing but fallen men and let out a mournful keen. Other musketeers immediately rushed toward his position. Athos counted off his men in his head. One dragon rider was missing.

When the musketeers lifted a body off the ground and began to bear him away toward the encampment with all haste, Athos knew his man yet lived. But for how much longer would remain to be seen.

Porthos and d'Artagnan dropped their gazes to the ground, the thrill of victory quickly replaced with the grim reality of the aftermath. Now came the dreary drudgery of searching the bodies for wounded, of counting the dead—that could be recognized—and taking prisoners.

Athos swept his gaze around the area in search of his dragon. Savron was making his own rounds, checking the dragons of his clan, exchanging wordless conversations with them the humans would never understand. Athos forced himself to put one foot in front of the other as he began giving orders to do a systematic search of the field of _victory_. How that word so quickly soured in his mind.

It was another few hours before they all finally made it back to camp. Athos was always the first one onto the field and the last one off. While other captains might content themselves to lead from the rear, Athos was no such captain. He fought side by side with his men.

Fortunately, he had good friends equally determined to look after him. It had been a battle of wills in the first few months, but Athos had quickly given in to Porthos's and d'Artagnan's insistence that he rest immediately after a battle. They had argued that the reports he needed so urgently wouldn't even be ready right away, and he might as well rest and recover in the time it took to gather them. Also, while he may have wanted to check on his injured men, Porthos and d'Artagnan had also pointed out that the medics would be too busy triaging to report to Athos on that either. So he'd relented, and after the initial battlefield clean-up was done, Athos headed for his tent.

As captain, he was afforded certain luxuries the rest of the men weren't, like an actual cot to sleep on and thick rugs to insulate the tent. While the days in May were swiftly growing warmer, sometimes the nights were still cold. Athos slogged over to his small desk and slumped in the wooden chair. He could not sleep so soon after a battle, though his muscles had turned to sludge and he didn't feel like he could move again without great effort.

A few minutes later, the flap of his tent flipped upward and d'Artagnan and Porthos came inside. D'Artagnan had a bowl of steaming stew and Porthos had a jug of water. It was an old routine by now. D'Artagnan set the stew on the desk and then collapsed on the floor on the rugs, propping his back up against the cot. Athos sipped at a few spoonfuls while Porthos poured fresh water into a basin and grabbed a towel to start wiping the grime off his hands and face. At some point, when they felt inclined to move, they'd rotate.

By the time they'd all sluggishly cleaned themselves up and taken a little nourishment, the first of the reports began to arrive. Athos listened to the numbers and names of casualties, the prognoses that were available, the men they'd have to wait until morning to know for sure of.

"The general is here," Etienne added when he'd finished.

Athos forced himself to his feet wearily as Etienne ducked out and General de Verley entered.

"That was a well-won victory, Captain," the burly man greeted.

Athos inclined his head in acknowledgement. "It was hard-won. But our supplies are all but depleted. We will not be victorious in the next battle."

The general nodded gravely. "A shipment of gunpowder was supposed to have arrived this morning, but the caravan never made it."

"How secure is the route?" Porthos spoke up.

"Very," de Verley replied. "Our supply chains are of the utmost importance. I sent scouts to watch the road, but they have not reported any sighting yet, and I cannot afford to send them further."

Athos nodded thoughtfully. "Our victory has secured us this ground for several days at least. I will take a dragon to check on the shipment."

"Very well," the general agreed. With a brisk nod, he turned and departed.

"You're not going alone," d'Artagnan said.

Athos glanced between him and Porthos, knowing very well they would not consent to him flying off on his own to investigate a missing gunpowder shipment. "Do you think the camp can spare all of us?"

"Like you said, this area's secure," Porthos answered. "The Spanish don't have a contingent large enough to put up a fight within a week of us."

True, Athos was merely asking to cover his bases. He selfishly didn't mind a little excursion with his friends that didn't involve a battlefield.

They exited the tent and went to find their dragons. Athos was glad to see Vrita and Rhaego appeared mostly unharmed by the recent skirmish. Ayelet was fussing over them, though, poking both of them persistently as though to make sure they weren't hiding any injuries.

"Feel like a field trip?" d'Artagnan asked them as they approached.

The dragons all perked their heads up at that. They, too, could use a diversion.

The musketeers saddled three of them—Savron, Vrita, and Rhaego. The russet dragon now carried d'Artagnan. Ayelet, however, seemed intent on not being left behind, as she bunched her muscles in clear anticipation of taking flight with them. Athos left Etienne in charge in his absence, and then they headed off.

By air, they were able to cover more ground more quickly, and it wasn't long before they spotted the wagon train on a narrow dirt track in the middle of a field. Several bodies were sprawled about the cart, and there was no one else in sight.

Athos gripped his pistol as Savron took him down. No one moved when the dragons landed in the grass, and the musketeers swiftly dismounted and went to check the bodies. Athos pressed his fingers beneath the jawline of one French soldier, then shook his head to the others. Porthos and d'Artagnan moved between the other men who had been guarding the shipment and also gave head shakes in the negative. None had survived.

"They were all shot," Porthos remarked as he moved around the wagon. "I'm guessin' an ambush, took 'em all out at the same time."

Athos concurred as he surveyed the scene. Not a single French weapon had been drawn.

"There's a set of wagon wheel tracks moving off the road," d'Artagnan reported. "There's only a few barrels left in this one. They probably tried to load as much as they could into one."

"That's a lot of gunpowder," Porthos commented gravely.

Indeed. And they needed it back.

Athos pulled a small piece of parchment from beneath his armor and a charcoal stick, which he used to scribble out a hasty note. He then rolled the parchment up and tucked it into one of the many pockets of the courier necklace Ayelet bore around her neck.

"Treville needs to be warned that the supply routes have been compromised," he told the young dragon.

Ayelet looked disappointed to be leaving them again so soon, but she bobbed her head, understanding the seriousness of the situation. Athos stepped back as she chirped at d'Artagnan and then thwacked her wings to leap into the sky and head back to Paris.

Athos turned to Rhaego next. "Get a scent of the gunpowder, see if you can track it."

Hopefully it lined up with the wagon wheel tracks left behind. And hopefully they found the ones responsible and managed to retrieve it without too much trouble…

.o.0.o.

Aramis jabbed the hoe into the ground, then pressed it in further with his foot, trying to work through the hardened soil to upturn it and hopefully make a viable bed for more planting. He paused in his work, tilting his head up toward the sun that beat down on him. It was a nice day, though exertion always did make it seem hotter than it was. He roved his gaze around the quaint and tranquil monastery that had been his home for two years now. Life was…calmer. His first year here had been full of turmoil, his soul still tormented by the evil that had touched it.

Since then he'd finally found a sort of balance between peace and contemplation. The nightmares that had once plagued him so fiercely every night had mostly died down, and he had found a certain fulfillment in the simple daily tasks assigned to him by the brothers.

But for all his progress, Aramis still felt like something was missing. He'd begun to accept that he would always feel this way, and he must just press on in spite of it, his own proverbial thorn in the flesh.

A shrill scream shattered the peace and Aramis turned as Annette, one of the orphans, came running up to hide behind him. Philipe, another young boy, was chasing her, his palm outstretched with something that was obviously terrorizing the little girl. Aramis snagged them both and kept them at arm's length.

"What is this now?" he asked sternly.

"Get it away from me!" Annette shrieked, grabbing onto Aramis's legs.

"I just wanted to show her!" Philipe said, though there was most certainly an impish gleam in his eye.

Aramis crouched down to get a closer look at what the boy had in his hand. It was a black fuzzy caterpillar.

"I think we both know you wanted to do more than that," Aramis chastised. "Give it to me."

The boy huffed but dumped his palm over Aramis's, depositing his find.

"Now go help Brother Theo with stacking the firewood as penance for taunting your sister in Christ."

Philipe pouted, but one stern look from Aramis, and he turned on his heel and stomped off.

Aramis shuffled around to face Annette. "Now then, there's nothing to be afraid of. See? It can't even move that fast. It doesn't mean you any harm; it's just another creature of God's own design."

Annette squirmed where she stood. "Why would God make something so icky?"

"Don't say that; you'll hurt its feelings." Aramis beckoned her to come a little closer. "One day this caterpillar will become a beautiful butterfly."

Annette's face scrunched up. " _That_?"

He grinned. "Yes. Want to touch it? It's soft."

The little girl bit her bottom lip uncertainly. Aramis lifted his other hand and lightly brushed his finger along the insect.

"You have to be gentle," he coaxed. "This creature is a lot more fragile than you."

She slowly inched closer, raising a trembling hand. Aramis waited patiently until she was brave enough to reach out and touch it. She immediately jerked her hand back, but there was a flash of light in her eyes.

"You're sure that turns into a butterfly?"

"I'm sure. Why don't we find it a nice place it can sit in peace?" He took her hand with his free one and led her over to the flower garden. Finding a shaded spot under some leaves, he set the caterpillar down in the soil.

"What color butterfly will it be?" Annette asked.

"I don't know. Maybe in a few weeks you'll see one and find out."

A raucous commotion at the entrance to the courtyard interrupted them, and Aramis swiftly straightened as a large group of men came riding through the archway. Numerous weapons clanked and jingled on their persons as they drew their horses to an abrupt halt.

"Secure the premises," one man immediately ordered and dismounted.

Several men swung down from their horses and spread out, drawing their swords.

Aramis tensed and drew Annette closer to him. A few more of the orphans had been outside as well, and he quickly ushered them all together so he could plant himself protectively in front of them. The men moved past him, paying them no heed at the moment.

The abbot strode out from the monastery. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked, not quite sternly but not entirely genially either.

The leader, a bald man with a scruffy, unshaven face, turned toward him. "We have need of the abbey's shelter."

"Anyone who comes in peace may stay," Father Emanuelli replied with a pointed look at the heavily armed men.

Their leader smirked, then drew a sword and leveled it at the abbot's chest. "We're staying."

Aramis's fingers twitched with the urge to retaliate with sword or pistol, but he had none.

More men filed into the monastery. Aramis counted fifteen in total. There was also a wagon loaded with barrels that bore the coat of arms of the French infantry. But these men were not soldiers, or if they were, deserters.

"Take them inside," the leader ordered, and the men finally turned their attention to Aramis and the children.

Aramis gathered them together as best he could and quickly led them toward the building. Inside, the armed intruders rounded up everyone else and herded them into the chapel where two guards were then posted at the doors to make sure they didn't go anywhere.

"Set up a watch," the leader told one of his men. "General Tavares should be here soon. Once we make our sale, we can leave."

General Tavares…that sounded like a Spanish name. And sale…it seemed these bandits had stolen some French supplies and were planning on selling it over to the Spanish.

Aramis clenched his fists as he could do nothing but stand huddled with the others. He hated feeling like a helpless monk…but he supposed that was what he was now. Which meant all he could do was pray these men left them alone after they'd gotten what they wanted.


	2. Chapter 2

Aramis and the other brothers tried to keep the children calm, though it was difficult. They were orphans of war and already had a sense of the danger they were in. Through the windows of the chapel, they could see the men ransacking their gardens and taking the abbey's food stores for themselves.

One of the older boys, Paul, snagged Aramis's sleeve. "Will you not fight?" he asked earnestly. "You were once a musketeer."

Aramis scoffed under his breath. "I am far outnumbered."

Paul drew his shoulders back. "I can help."

Aramis shook his head. He may have admired the boy's spirit, which reminded him of another young and brash lad he'd met several years ago, but Paul had an equal lack of judgement when evaluating the odds.

"We don't have any weapons," Aramis pointed out. He did not mention that Paul didn't even know how to wield one. "Not even a musketeer can take on fifteen men unarmed."

Former musketeer, he mentally amended.

"Aramis," the abbot called.

He patted Paul's shoulder and gestured for him to help look after the younger children, then made his way toward where Father Emanuelli was standing, the old abbot's eyes fixed on the door and what was happening outside.

"There is a tunnel beneath the altar that leads into the woods behind the monastery," he said in a low voice. "You must take the children and flee."

Aramis's brows rose sharply, and he pitched his voice just as low as he replied, "Isn't that risky?"

"Yes," Father Emanuelli agreed. "But the leader of this group has a certain look in his eye—I do not think he intends to leave us alive."

Aramis flicked a glance outside; he had to agree. He'd seen his share of hardened, depraved men with no moral compass to temper their impulses. "Then we should all try to escape."

"The guards will notice if we all try to flee," the abbot pointed out. "There are enough of the order to shield your escape. Besides, you will go faster without us. Most of us are not young men," he added with a wry look.

"They will surely harm or kill you if they discover our escape," Aramis hissed.

The abbot nodded. "That very well may be. But the children are more important." He shifted slightly to clasp Aramis's forearm. "You must do this."

Aramis's jaw tightened. It went against everything inside him to abandon the monks to these ruffians. And yet he also knew it was dangerous for the children to remain. So Aramis reluctantly acceded with a nod.

The brothers in the back near the altar moved around it to fold back a rug, revealing a grated trap door in the floor. It creaked slightly as they pulled it up, and Aramis cast a tense look at the guards across the room. They hadn't seemed to notice. A wooden ladder affixed to the ledge descended down several feet into an underground shaft. The brothers huddled together to block any view of their activity as Aramis went down first.

The shaft was musty and tickled his nose. He let out a small cough as he reached up to take the lantern someone passed down to him. Setting that aside, he then helped the children down one by one. He also sent a quick prayer to Heaven that none of them would start to sneeze…

Aramis picked up the last child off the top rung and set her feet safely on the ground, and the trap door was put back in place above them. Just as it was, a commotion sounded inside the chapel, and Aramis ushered the children against the wall and pressed his finger to his lips in warning to stay as quiet as possible. Darkness fell over the tunnel, the rug having been flipped back over the grate, but Aramis could still hear the muffled voices from above.

"Raymon!" someone shouted.

Aramis hastily tucked the lantern down behind a cleft in the rock wall and listened to the footsteps reverberating through the floor.

"Where are the children?" the leader's gravelly voice demanded.

"God saw fit to take them elsewhere," the abbot replied.

"Don't get smart with me, monk. Where are they?"

Father Emanuelli said nothing. Aramis heard the soft scritch of steel being drawn from a scabbard. A split second later echoed the familiar chokes and gurgles of a severely wounded or dying man. Aramis clenched his fists, wanting nothing more than to charge back up there. But he was still unarmed and the abbot had left the children in his care, had likely sacrificed his life that they might have a chance to escape. Although their disappearance had been discovered much sooner than hoped.

"Where are they?" the bandit snapped at the other monks.

They all remained silent, and Aramis braced himself for listening to each one of them being murdered while he did nothing.

But there were no further sounds of death.

"Search the building!" the leader shouted, then added, "No witnesses."

Aramis closed his eyes; the abbot had been right. These men didn't care to leave them alive after they had finished conducting their business here. Likely they hadn't slaughtered them all yet in case there was use for them, but the moment it was decided there was none, they would all be killed.

Aramis briefly debated the wisdom of staying put and trying to hide or attempting to make a run for it. Neither was without risk. He picked up the lantern and turned to look over the frightened faces of the children. Who knew if there were more trap doors into the tunnel throughout the rest of the monastery, and if the men found one, they would then search the tunnels. So their little group would have to take their chances outside.

Aramis spared one more prayer for the brothers being left behind, then forced himself to turn his back on them and usher the children down the dark passageway. They eventually came upon another ladder propped against the old sewer. Aramis passed Paul the lantern and climbed up. It took some fumbling for him to find the latch to the trap door, but he finally managed and pushed the wood panel up with some effort. Dirt and leaves fell away from the chute they had been covering. Aramis did a quick scan in every direction before climbing all the way out and beckoning the children to follow.

One by one, they struggled to make the climb, especially the littler ones. Paul came last to ensure none of them fell. Once they were all up top, Aramis closed the trap door and hastily tossed some leaves and twigs back over it. The woods around them were quiet for the moment. Aramis took a moment to orient which direction the monastery was, then turned to head off the opposite way. He had no idea where he was going to lead them all to, as far away as possible, he supposed. He'd need to find a safe place for the children, and then find help to send back to the monastery…if it wouldn't be too late by then.

Movement up ahead drew his attention, and Aramis signaled for them all to crouch low to the ground and stay quiet. Some of the bandits had already made it to the woods to search for them. Aramis held his breath, praying they turned the other direction.

Then Annette screamed.

Aramis whipped around in alarm as the girl scrambled back from something in the bushes—a spider in its web.

The men shouted and started hurrying toward their position.

"Take them!" Aramis shouted to Paul as he darted behind a tree just to his left.

The young lad ushered the children together and made to flee. They wouldn't get far, Aramis knew. He held his ground and waited for the first man to pass the tree. Then he leaped out and tackled the bandit to the ground, knocking him out with a punch before he could fight back. Aramis snatched his sword and pistol away from him and leaped back onto his feet in time to block a swing coming at his chest. Metal collided with a discordant clang. Aramis wrenched his blade away and riposted, driving the second bandit away from the children as hard as he could. His muscles responded stiffly to his blocks and parries, as it had been too long since he'd put them through such paces.

But finally he managed to get past the bandit's guard and slice him deeply across the chest. The man fell with a wounded cry.

A pistol shot hit the tree a foot from Aramis's head, and he dropped to the ground as splinters pelted his face. He didn't go for the pistol he'd grabbed, not yet. He had one shot and would prefer to save it if he could. Keeping low to the ground, he tried to work his way around to come at the third bandit from the side. But before he could make his move, a fourth he hadn't seen leaped out at him. He barely got his blade up to block the blow aimed to kill, but the force knocked him off his feet. He hit the ground hard. Annette screamed again.

.o.0.o.

The wagon tracks through the woods had been easy to discern and Rhaego's keen nose wasn't needed to follow them. Athos couldn't fathom where they were headed. Not directly toward the front lines, that was for certain. Among the tracks, they'd been able to count a handful of horses, maybe more. Even so, Athos wasn't worried by the size of the raiding party, not with three dragons in their company.

The sharp report of a pistol sounded through the woods, bringing them all up short. A moment later, the echo of clashing steel followed. Athos exchanged a look with Porthos and d'Artagnan before the three of them burst into a run toward the sounds of fighting. They crested a wide knoll and came upon a small skirmish, with a few bodies lying strewn about and one man on his back, struggling to keep his blade from being pushed down against his chest by two men bearing down on him with their own swords.

"Hey!" d'Artagnan shouted.

The two men jerked their heads up and immediately turned to charge the musketeers. Athos didn't know who they were, but their readiness to kill strangers automatically categorized them as varlets to be dealt with. He whipped his sword from its sheath and leaped forward to meet them. Within a few short moves, he and d'Artagnan had dispatched the assailants. They then turned toward the man still lying sprawled on the ground and froze on the spot in disbelief. It couldn't be…

Aramis stared up at them, expression equally flabbergasted. His hair was longer and beard fuller, but it was him, their wayward brother turned monk.

Aramis pushed himself to his feet. "Impossible," he uttered, blinking incredulously.

Athos gaped back at him, the word stolen from his mouth. What on earth was he doing out here in the middle of nowhere?

D'Artagnan was the first to break from his stupor, moving forward with a splitting grin and throwing his arms around Aramis in a hearty embrace. Aramis hugged back, stunned gaze still flitting between Athos and Porthos.

Athos was standing closest when d'Artagnan finally disengaged, and he stepped in to fervently embrace his long-lost brother as well. Aramis shook his head as Porthos stepped forward last, squeezing Aramis so firmly Athos thought he was likely to suffocate their dear friend.

Porthos clapped him on the back and pulled away. "Aren't you supposed to be in a monastery?"

"I was," he replied, finally grinning like a fool, though it quickly shuttered. "Until a group of bandits came in and seized it."

Athos opened his mouth to ask for more information, but before he could, a small child came running up and grabbed hold of Aramis's legs so forcefully she almost knocked him off balance.

"Hello," Porthos blurted in surprise.

Movement behind Aramis caught Athos's eye, and he noticed more children cautiously approaching from behind the trees.

"It's alright!" Aramis called over his shoulder. "They're friends."

Athos arched a brow at his friend. "I know this brood isn't yours."

"The abbot thought it best if I got the children out of the abbey before the men who seized it decided not to leave any witnesses." His expression pinched with grief. "The leader killed him for it."

And why would a bunch of bandits take over a monastery? Yet again, before Athos could ask, several of the children made frightened noises as the dragons meandered their way over.

Aramis's eyes lit up when he spotted Rhaego. The russet dragon, however, did not bound forward to greet his former rider. In fact, Rhaego's expression furrowed and he stayed where he was. Athos could see the slight hurt cross Aramis's face at that, but the musketeer turned monk shifted his attention back to the children.

"Don't be afraid," he assured them. "These are Musketeer dragons. They won't hurt you."

"Musketeers?" one of the boys repeated in awe.

"That's right," Aramis replied with a smile. "This is Athos, Porthos, d'Artagnan, and the dragons are Savron, Vrita, and Rhaego."

"You're Porthos the giant?!" the same boy exclaimed, bounding over to the large musketeer.

Porthos blinked down at him dubiously.

"Where's Ayelet?" the girl clinging to Aramis asked.

Athos arched a brow at his friend, who ducked his gaze sheepishly.

"You…know about us?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Yes. Aramis has told us all about your adventures."

Aramis cleared his throat. "While I'm very happy to see you all, more men are bound to come looking for us. What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Tracking a shipment of stolen gunpowder," Athos replied.

Aramis's brows rose sharply. "The bandits at the monastery had a wagon full of barrels marked for the French army. They're planning to sell it to the Spanish. From what I gathered, a General Tavares is on his way to make the purchase."

"We must stop that from happening," Athos said needlessly.

Porthos pursed his mouth thoughtfully. "Capturing a high level general like Tavares wouldn't be too shabby, either."

"I'll lead you back to the monastery," Aramis said. "These men have no intention of leaving the brothers alive once their business is finished."

"What about…" D'Artagnan cocked his head at the children.

"They will be safe with one of the dragons," Aramis suggested. "And the remaining two will be enough to handle the fifteen men at the abbey."

"Are they carrying acimite?" Athos asked.

"I don't know."

"Still," d'Artagnan put in. "Two dragons, four of us, we can take fifteen."

"Assuming the general doesn't bring more reinforcements—or a dragon of his own."

Still, they needed to retrieve the gunpowder, and Porthos was right; capturing a Spanish general would be a victory for France.

"Alright, who wants to stay?" Athos asked the dragons.

Vrita made a soft trill in her throat.

"She'll look after the youngins," Porthos translated.

Aramis turned to the children. "Go with Vrita. She'll protect you until I return."

The children shared hesitant looks before shuffling cautiously toward the large green dragon.

"There's a tunnel beneath the monastery," Aramis said. "That's how we escaped. We can get back inside and attack from within. The bandits will not be expecting it."

"I want to come with you," an older boy declared.

Aramis immediately shook his head.

"I can help!" he insisted.

"No. I need you here to look after the others."

"But—"

" _Paul_." Aramis speared the boy with a stern glare.

The musketeers kept their silence as the young lad scowled and turned to stride away.

"He reminds me of someone," Porthos remarked.

Aramis smirked. "Indeed."

"Not really," Athos put in. "He, for one, knows obedience."

D'Artagnan rolled his eyes. "You want obedience? By your leave, _Captain_ ," he said, holding his arm out for Athos to lead the way.

Athos gestured to Aramis, who knew where this tunnel was.

And in a manner reminiscent of days long past, the four men and their dragons set off together.


	3. Chapter 3

Aramis backtracked through the forest toward the trapdoor he had made his escape through less than half an hour ago. Despite the horror that morning at the monastery had turned into, his heart was swelling with joy at seeing his dearest friends again after so long. When he'd left the Musketeers, part of him hadn't dared to hope he might reunite with them again in this earthly realm. He was, after all, devoting his life to service to God. And on top of that, to find they had yet survived this war was more than Aramis could have hoped for.

He cast a sidelong look at d'Artagnan. "Ayelet is…?" he broached tentatively, having noticed the young Gascon's prized dragon was not with them.

"Oh, she's fine," d'Artagnan quickly replied. "She's been flying messages between the regiments and Paris."

Aramis relaxed with relief. "Then, you and Rhaego…?"

"Yeah, he's let me ride him."

Aramis nodded. "Good. That's good." He glanced over his shoulder at where the russet dragon was trailing behind the rest of them, looking almost as though he were sulking.

"Don't take his reticence to heart," d'Artagnan said quietly. "I'm sure he's happy to see you—we all are—he's probably just guarding himself in preparation for when we have to part ways again." D'Artagnan gave him a rueful smile. "It was hard enough the first time."

Aramis dropped his gaze. Indeed, as glad as he was to see them all, the reminder of inevitable farewells did give his heart a preemptive pang. He could understand Rhaego's reaction.

They reached the trap door, which was thankfully undisturbed from when Aramis and the children had used it.

"I will remain up top with Savron and Rhaego," Athos said. "When the general arrives, we'll give the signal to move."

"If they attempt to harm the brothers before then, I will have to act," Aramis warned. He was not a soldier who followed orders anymore, and those men were his friends.

Athos nodded in understanding but reached out to clasp his shoulder. "Don't get yourself killed in the process."

Aramis didn't know whether the comment was borne of concern for his well-being or that he hadn't wielded a sword in over two years, but it didn't matter. He flipped the trap door open, then swung his legs into the hole to find the ladder rungs and climbed down. Porthos and d'Artagnan followed. Aramis picked up the lantern where they'd left it in their escape, and then Athos eased the door back down to conceal it in case more bandits came into the woods. They had frankly been fortunate not to run into any more. Aramis didn't know what would happen if someone spotted Athos and the dragons before the general arrived.

Aramis led the way back down the tunnel. The lack of noises suggested the bandits hadn't found it, either. Perhaps God was watching over them this day.

They reached the end of the shaft and the ladder that went up to the chapel. Aramis handed the lantern to Porthos and climbed up to listen. It was almost silent above, save for the combined murmurs of recited prayers.

"Pst," he hissed, trying to get someone's attention. "It's Aramis."

The wood paneling above creaked, and then the corner of the rug was folded back.

"Aramis? What are you doing here?" Brother Theo whispered sharply.

"God has brought us defenders in our time of need," he replied. "French soldiers with dragons. Is everyone all right?"

"We are fine," Theo replied grimly. "What of the children?"

"Safe," Aramis assured him. "We are armed and ready to come up and fight, though the captain would prefer to wait for the Spanish general in the hopes of capturing him."

Theo was quiet for a moment, then said, "That is his prerogative."

"If the bandits threaten you—"

"I don't believe they will until they've finished their business here," Theo cut him off. "You should remain hidden until that time."

"Very well. We will be right here should any trouble arise."

Aramis then climbed back down as Theo flipped the rug back over the grate.

"So I guess now we wait," d'Artagnan said.

Aramis nodded grimly. In the ensuing silence, he found himself somewhat uncomfortable. He wanted to ask after his brothers, how they'd been, but he already knew the answer: they'd been at war for two years. He'd been involved in campaigns before; he knew what it was like.

"So…" Porthos spoke up, thumbs hooked into his belt, gaze directed toward Aramis but slightly off center. "How are you?"

Aramis's expression softened. "Better," he replied, and was happy it was the truth. "I've prayed for you all every day."

D'Artagnan smiled fondly at that. "It probably did us some good, all the close calls we've had."

Aramis couldn't help but grimace. Rationally, he knew his presence by their side would not have made much difference; indeed, they'd all looked after each other well enough without him. But he still felt the pang of remorse and guilt for not having had their backs.

"I'm sorry," he found himself saying.

D'Artagnan quirked a confused brow at him. "For what?"

Aramis dropped his gaze to the ground. "For not being strong enough to stay," he spoke softly.

Silence hung heavily in the air for a long moment, and Aramis regretted saying anything. Their time together would be short, and he should not spoil it by bringing up old hurts he couldn't change.

"That's not the way I remember it," Porthos spoke up gruffly.

Aramis flicked a surprised look up at him.

"Seemed to me it took a great deal of strength to leave."

He looked away again.

"We've never resented you, Aramis," d'Artagnan added fervently. "Honestly, it was thoughts of Constance and you, somewhere outside this war, that helped give me something to keep fighting for. A reason beyond duty and mere survival, but a hope that it would all mean something for those left behind. That you'd be safe when we won."

"Same here," Porthos said. "Knowin' you were out there, somewhere away from all this…it was like a piece of us would survive this war even if we three didn't."

D'Artagnan flashed them both a wide grin. "And come to find you've turned us into heroes of tall tales."

A small smile tugged at Aramis's mouth. "It kept you alive in my heart and mind when hope was all I had."

They shared looks of camaraderie as they settled into silent waiting once more.

_Thank you_ , Aramis prayed. _And grant us one more victory together_. For old time's sake.

.o.0.o.

It was difficult finding a place of cover with two grown dragons, especially ones with such vibrant coloring. Athos had made his way to the back of the monastery and crept up to the corner where he could see the road. Savron and Rhaego hunkered down in the underbrush behind him to stay out of sight as much as possible.

A few bandits exited the courtyard and began heading toward the woods, shouting a handful of names, presumably the companions who'd met with the musketeers in the forest. Athos stayed low, watching as they began to fan out.

But then a loud voice called them back, and Athos looked up the road toward where a group of men on horseback were approaching. As they drew closer, their Spanish uniforms were unmistakeable.

The bandits abandoned their brief search and returned to the courtyard as the company of six, plus the Spanish general, rode through the archway and out of sight.

"Boudier," a thickly accented voice called.

Athos inched along the wall toward the opening and peered around the edge. A bald man came out of the abbey and strode toward the Spanish party.

"General," he greeted.

This was it, then. Athos glanced over his shoulder and nodded to Savron. The dragon threw his head back and let out a trumpet call that the others should most certainly hear, even down in the tunnel. Rhaego leaped up from his crouch and climbed over the wall directly into the courtyard, while Athos drew his sword and pistol and strode through the entrance, Savron right behind him.

Horses shrieked in fright, and the abbey erupted in gunfire.

.o.0.o.

Savron's call was slightly muffled but still reached Aramis hiding in the tunnel, and he wasted no time scrambling up the ladder into the chapel. The guards posted at the doors had already run outside at the commotion, giving Aramis and the others the second element of surprise they were counting on.

Porthos and d'Artagnan climbed up after him, then Aramis urged the brothers to take cover in the tunnel themselves. His gaze flitted over Father Emanuelli's body and the blood staining the weathered wood, and righteous fury surged up anew. With sword in hand, Aramis charged out of the chapel to join the battle outside.

Men were shooting at Rhaego and Savron, who were doing little aside from shrieking menacingly and swiping at anyone who came within range. Aramis was glad they weren't setting the place on fire. Fortunately, the bandits' pistols were loaded with mere lead, and the balls glanced off the dragons' scales harmlessly.

Athos was at the front of the courtyard, dueling two men at once. Savron's presence at his back discouraged any others from charging him, but that didn't stop the men with muskets from reloading and turning their aim toward the lone musketeer. Until three more attacked from behind. Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan managed to cut down four men between them before their presence was registered and the bandits drew their blades to fight back. Then the courtyard was a cacophony of clanging steel, cracking pistols, and dragon screeches.

Aramis saw one bandit stuffing a fuse into one of the gunpowder barrels and lighting it. The man then hefted it up over his head to throw at Rhaego. Aramis whipped out his pistol and fired. The man jerked backward, the lit barrel rolling beneath the wagon with all the other barrels. _Shit_.

"Get down!" Aramis yelled, throwing himself to the ground. A split second later, the entire stock of gunpowder exploded. Everyone still on their feet was flung through the air as the brunt of the explosion ripped right through the stone wall.

Aramis flipped over onto his back, ears ringing so loudly he couldn't hear whether any foes were coming up behind him. But everyone seemed momentarily stunned. He cast his gaze around urgently for his friends. Porthos and d'Artagnan were staggering to their feet near the chapel doors. Rhaego was still perched on the opposite wall, blinking dubiously at the destruction. Aramis couldn't see Athos through the smoke across the courtyard, but he could make out Savron who was folding back his wing as though he'd used it to shield someone.

The bandits were climbing to their feet as well, and the musketeers raised their blades to resume the battle. But then Aramis spotted the leader making a run for it through the gap that had been blown in the outer wall. Aramis immediately took off after him.

The leader—Raymon was it?—glanced over his shoulder and saw Aramis pursuing him. He came to an abrupt stop and whirled, drawing a knife from his belt and flipping it around to grip the tip of the blade, then arched his arm back and flung it through the air. Aramis reflexively swung his sword up, barely catching the knife in time to deflect it from embedding in his chest.

The bandit scowled and grabbed his pistol next, but something must have caught his attention, because he flicked his gaze to his left. As Aramis bolted toward him, he lunged for something concealed behind some stones and yanked out a gangly figure, whom he wrested up against his chest and set the barrel of his pistol to.

Aramis skidded to a stop. It was Paul. The boy's eyes were wide and terrified as Raymon pressed the barrel of his pistol harshly against his temple.

"Let him go," Aramis snapped.

"Either I leave, or neither of us does," the man replied. "Drop your weapons."

Aramis gritted his teeth and released his sword, letting it fall to the ground.

"Kick it away."

Aramis caught the juncture of the blade and hilt with the toe of his boot and tossed the sword a few feet from him. "Now let him go."

A taut moment stretched between them, but then the bandit shifted his pistol away from Paul and aimed at Aramis. Aramis dove to the side as the shot cracked the air, the musket ball whizzing past to strike a tree. Aramis scrambled to his feet and for his sword as Raymon shoved Paul away and darted to where some of the bandits' horses had been tethered outside the monastery. He had the reins free and was leaping into the saddle before Aramis could close the distance between them, and then the man was riding off at a full gallop.

Aramis swore and almost flung his sword to the ground again in frustration. He should have grabbed a second pistol at some point during the fight. That was why he'd always carried two, when there was no time to reload and he needed more than one shot.

Letting out a long breath, he stowed his anger and turned toward Paul. "Are you all right?"

The boy carefully got up from the ground. "Yes." His gaze drifted past Aramis in the direction Raymon had escaped. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to help."

Aramis sighed. There was nothing to be done about it now. "Your bravery is commendable, but your brashness may very well prevent you from putting it to real use someday," he said.

Paul ducked his gaze in shame.

Aramis listened for the sounds of battle continuing in the courtyard, but everything had quieted down. "Stay behind me," he warned as he began to head back toward the monastery.

Inside, he found his friends had emerged victorious. Most of the bandits and the Spanish soldiers lay slain about the courtyard, but the general himself was on his knees as Athos secured his arms behind his back.

It was over.


	4. Chapter 4

While the musketeers dealt with the mess outside, Aramis went back into the chapel to tell the brothers it was safe to come out. He stopped at the abbot's body, kneeling down and whispering a prayer over the man who had been a kind and patient mentor to Aramis these past two years. His presence would be sorely missed among them all.

Aramis lifted his rosary to his lips, then stood and made his way over to the trap door. "It's safe," he called, bending down to flip the wooden grate open.

Brother Theo climbed out first. "You are well?"

Aramis nodded; he'd survived the fight unscathed.

The rest of the monks climbed up the ladder, and several immediately went to Father Emanuelli to bear him up and away. The battle was over and the adrenaline rush that had fueled Aramis's fire was now swiftly waning. It left him with a feeling of poignant grief, not only for the dear life lost this day, but also because his brothers would now have to be on their way.

He headed back outside, stepping over the bodies that littered the courtyard. It seemed not even a humble abbey could escape the reaches of this war.

D'Artagnan walked over to him. "Savron and Porthos went to get Vrita and the children," he said.

Aramis just nodded and wordlessly began to drag the bodies together into a pile. He didn't want the children returning to such a sight. D'Artagnan helped. After Athos secured their Spanish prisoner to a post, he came over to assist as well.

"So much for getting the gunpowder back," d'Artagnan commented as he eyed the blackened patch of earth and rubble of the stone wall.

"At least the Spanish did not get it," Athos replied. "And the capture of their general is bound to make up for the loss."

D'Artagnan shrugged.

By the time the children arrived, the bodies were all stacked in one place and covered with a tarpaulin. The orphans filed into the courtyard, Porthos carrying Annette.

"Was there any trouble?" Aramis asked in concern.

"Nah," Porthos said and set his cargo down.

Aramis caught Paul's eye and cocked his head toward the abbey. "Why don't you take them all inside?"

Paul nodded obediently and gathered them together, fielding their many questions about the battle and what happened after Paul had left them.

That left the three musketeers and one former one in the courtyard.

"Will you depart right away?" Aramis asked, trying to keep his tone neutral. As much as he yearned to spend more time with his brothers, he knew he couldn't stand in the way of their duty. And he honestly didn't know whether it would hurt to say goodbye so soon or for them to stay a little longer and only prolong the inevitable.

"We will stay long enough to help bury the dead," Athos said.

"We appreciate that," Brother Theo interjected, making his way over to them. "It will be late by the time we finish the task, so you should stay the night."

"You have somewhere secure we can put him?" Porthos asked, cocking his head toward the Spanish general.

"The cellar should suffice," Theo replied. "Though, it does not have a lock…"

"We will set a guard," d'Artagnan assured him.

Theo inclined his head, and d'Artagnan and Athos went to move their prisoner from the courtyard to the allotted cell for the time being. Which left the work of seeing to the dead to the rest of them.

There was a field not far from the abbey, and the brothers decided to take the slain bandits and Spanish soldiers there. With the dragons' help transporting the bodies, it did not take long to get them all out there, and then Savron and Vrita also helped to begin digging a large grave to place them all in.

"I regret not having the time to bury them all individually," Brother Theo said. "But I suppose it matters little, as most of their names will remain unknown to all but God, and he does not require headstones."

"No, he does not," Aramis quietly agreed.

They deposited the corpses into the grave with care, then buried them. Brother Theo said a prayer to send their souls on their way.

Father Emanuelli was buried in the small plot out behind the monastery with a full memorial service to honor his passing. Even the children had been gathered for it. Aramis bowed his head as Theo said a few words in remembrance of their brother in Christ. The abbot had been in service to God for longer than Aramis's lifetime. He had devoted his life to teaching others, to caring for widows and orphans.

"He defended the helpless even unto the end," Theo said. "And so his death was not in vain. We commend his spirit to God. Amen."

A chorus of "amen"s echoed the first. There was another moment of silence, and then the monks slowly began to head back to the abbey. Aramis remained at the grave even after everyone else had left.

"I already miss your counsel," he spoke aloud. "Even though you were rarely straightforward with it."

Aramis gave a rueful smile at that. After another moment, he lifted his gaze toward Heaven.

"I made a choice to devote my life to you," he prayed. "Initially, it was because I felt my soul had been corrupted and I needed to find salvation again. And then it was because it was a vow I had taken and needed to uphold. But today, seeing my brothers again, fighting beside them…" He faltered at the confession poised upon his lips. "It made me feel more alive than I've felt my entire time here."

And with that came the realization of what final piece he'd been missing all this time was.

"You made me a musketeer," he said, unable to keep the smile of delight off his face. He shook his head, filled with a flush of _life_. God, how he'd missed this.

But the elation was quickly tempered with doubt. Yes, he knew who and what he was, had forgotten for a time but now remembered, yet could he turn his back on his vow in order to go back? Would that displease God, despite this sudden revelation?

"What would you have me do?" he asked, tilting his head back toward the sky once more. He did not receive a verbal answer—he never did. But he thought he felt a sense of…peace. Another feeling that had eluded him for a long time. The abbot once told him God valued the seeking rather than the destination. Perhaps it was time to move on again. He felt…ready. Healed.

Aramis turned away from the grave to head back, only to stop short as he found Athos standing by the wall, watching him with a soft, fond look.

Aramis's shoulders tightened self-consciously. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough." He moved away from the wall and walked over. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop."

Aramis didn't know whether to be embarrassed or not, but before he could work it out, Athos stepped closer.

"I told you your place in the Musketeers would always be there should you want it back."

Aramis hesitated, certainty and doubt once again warring within him. "I do want it back," he confessed softly, then dropped his gaze in shame. "I'm sorry I ever left."

Athos reached out to clasp his elbow. "It was what you needed at the time," he said. "You would not have found healing on the war front." His expression turned sad. "Are you sure you want to join us there? War changes things…"

"It's where I belong," Aramis said with conviction, and it felt _right_. Bit by bit, his doubts fell by the wayside.

Athos gave him a soft smile in return. "I am glad to see you healed, brother."

Aramis nodded. "You're right, I wouldn't have found that if I had stayed."

Athos clapped him on the shoulder and turned him toward the monastery. "Porthos and d'Artagnan will be thrilled."

Aramis beamed. He wouldn't have to say goodbye after all.

.o.0.o.

The next morning, Aramis packed his few possessions into a small knapsack and prepared to depart the monastery. The monks had lined up to bid him farewell, and Aramis stopped to clasp Theo's forearm.

"Thank you," he said sincerely.

"It's you we owe thanks to," Theo replied. "Father Emanuelli would be proud."

"I think he would credit God for the victory here," Aramis said wryly.

"And rightly so," Theo rejoined with a smirk, then added seriously, "But for the part you have to play, both here and when you leave, he would be proud."

Aramis inclined his head in appreciation of that. He then turned toward the children gathered together and looking glum. He gave them a fond smile as he walked over.

"Please don't leave, Aramis," Annette pleaded.

He crouched down in front of her. "I'm afraid I must. The Lord has given me a calling, and I must follow it."

"But who will protect us and tell us stories?"

"Paul will be a fine protector, and I think he can come up with some exciting stories."

"About the musketeer Aramis," the older boy put in.

Aramis's mouth quirked and he nodded. He pointed at Philipe. "Do not terrorize your brothers and sisters. You are a family here, understand?"

They all nodded.

Aramis held his arms out and hugged Annette. All the other young ones surged forward to add themselves to the pile. For a moment, it seemed they would refuse to let him go, but Aramis managed to disengage from them and stand up. While his heart was full at rejoining his brothers, he would miss this group of delightful little troublemakers.

"Aramis," Paul called as he was leaving.

He turned around.

"I might become a musketeer one day," the boy said.

Aramis smiled and nodded. "One day you might."

With that, he walked out of the courtyard to the road where the others and the dragons were waiting. The Spanish general had already been tied to Vrita's saddle. D'Artagnan, Porthos, and Athos were all grinning at him, clearly as thrilled as he was to be back. Aramis glanced at Rhaego, though, who was still standing apart from the others and avoiding looking directly at Aramis.

He exchanged a wordless look with the others and went over to the russet dragon.

"I never meant to hurt you by leaving," Aramis said quietly for Rhaego's ears only. "You must know that."

Rhaego darted a sullen look at him, then away, but he did give a short nod.

"And I understand if you and d'Artagnan are a team now," Aramis went on. "I would not attempt to break that up. I'm sure you two have been through a lot together. I'm proud of you for that."

Rhaego flicked another fleeting, uncertain look at him. Aramis gave him a wan smile and started to turn away. He would ride with Athos and Savron, and then back at the regiment he would join the foot soldiers on the ground.

But Rhaego shoved his nose into Aramis's shoulder from behind, nearly pushing him over. Aramis turned back. Rhaego looked at him with plaintive eyes and nudged his chest again. Aramis smiled and reached out to pat his neck.

"Ready?" d'Artagnan interjected, grinning at them.

Aramis stepped back. "I think so."

He climbed into the saddle. D'Artagnan mounted up behind him, and then they set off. It had been a while since Aramis had ridden a dragon, but it was still second nature to him. He closed his eyes and let the wind whip through his hair.

"Hey, do you want your pistols back?" d'Artagnan asked at his back.

Aramis twisted around in astonishment. "You've held onto them all this time?"

"Of course we did. I have one and Porthos has the other. And before you ask, I clean them every night."

Aramis shook his head. "Well, I suppose I will need a pair, won't I?"

"Athos even still has your sash," d'Artagnan added. "Though it's folded up in the bottom of his saddlebag. He got tired of washing the blood off after every battle."

Warmth filled Aramis's chest at the knowledge his brothers had kept a piece of him close all this time, just as he had done with them by regaling the orphans with tales of their adventures.

The military encampment came into view and the dragons swooped down to land. Porthos hauled General Tavares off Vrita and handed him over to some soldiers. Aramis recognized several musketeers among the men, who looked equally surprised and delighted to see him.

"Aramis," Etienne greeted brightly, coming forward and clasping his arm. He flicked an amused look at Athos. "You went to check on a delayed shipment of gunpowder and return with a long-lost musketeer and a Spanish prisoner?"

Athos smirked. "It's a long story. One I might as well tell while I write my report on it to send back to Paris. Has Ayelet returned?"

"She has," Etienne replied but was interrupted by said dragon pushing her way through the crowd.

She squawked happily at d'Artagnan, then cocked her head and blinked in surprise at Aramis. But after that initial moment, she let out a slightly louder shriek in delight and gave him a nose bump on the arm.

Aramis winced and rubbed at the tender spot even as he smiled back at her. "I'm pleased to see you too."

"You'll have only a little time for a reunion, I'm afraid," Athos told her. "I have another urgent report for you to send as soon as I write it."

"Actually, that won't be necessary," Etienne said. "Ayelet brought new orders for the three of you—you're being recalled to Paris."

Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan exchanged dubious looks.

"The Queen has given birth to the Dauphin," Etienne explained. "The King wants the three of you back to provide added protection. Well, I guess it'd be the four of you," he added with a nod to Aramis.

Athos hesitated. "I can't leave the men…"

"The King's orders were very specific," Etienne said, expression softening. "Don't worry, Athos, the men understand."

Athos looked around at each of them, clearly torn between his duty to the King and his duty as their captain. With grim acceptance, he turned back to Etienne and reached out to clasp his arm. "Then I leave the regiment under your command."

Etienne bowed his head.

Athos looked at Porthos and d'Artagnan. "I suppose we should gather our things."

The two of them nodded and they headed off to one of the many barracks tents, leaving Aramis to wait with the dragons. This was an unexpected development indeed.

"The Queen has given birth?" he repeated to Etienne.

The musketeer nodded. "After so long, France now has an heir." A commotion further back in the camp drew his attention, and he shot a rueful look back at Aramis. "It's good to see you," he said sincerely.

Aramis nodded back as Etienne headed off to see to things.

It wasn't long before Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan returned, each with a traveling sack as small as Aramis's. There wasn't much room for personal items on the war front or in a monastery.

D'Artagnan had also retrieved a dragon saddle which he put on Ayelet. It looked like Aramis would be flying Rhaego solo.

As they all mounted up and took to the skies, Aramis's heart filled with elation. It had been a very long detour he had taken, but now he was finally going home again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT TIME
> 
> Our four musketeers are recalled to Paris where they discover tensions between the City Guard and refugees are on the brink of violent confrontation. And Athos meets a familiar leader among the people.


End file.
